


The Favor of a Goddess

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Eternal Plantagenet [1]
Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Highlander, Irish Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A raven takes flight, and a king wakes to a renewed life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Favor of a Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> While this is trying to work from history, the characterization of Henry is heavily influenced by Shakespeare. In later stories, also influenced by various other portrayals of the time periods in which they are set.

She wraps the threads around the corpse, gossamer strands as invisible as she. Twisted and woven and knotted in intricate patterns no one would see that didn't have some measure of deity to them. Working as they travel, carrying the body from where the warrior king fell prey to something so ordinary as disease, binding the soul that trails ever closer beside her as she tightens the weaving that holds him to his body. Never caring for his fury at being kept from the heaven he believes in, or the fear that his combined kingdom, so close to being realized, will be lost with his death. He will not remember this when she is done; the twilight between the living and the dead not a thing to be known to either.

She finishes as those who bear the heavy burden set it in its wooden casket in a church while they make secure the ship that will carry it across the wind-whipped channel between the mainland and the island her newest favorite once called home. Perhaps one day will call home again, but not soon, as she knows the man who keeps watch over the body will not allow it, no matter how strange he will think this. Smiling to herself, she collects the nails that hold the coffin shut with a thought, perching on the roof for a moment in a form that many feel is an evil omen.

A raucous call echoes off the church bell as a raven takes flight, vanishing into the lowering cloud cover and vanishing more completely once shrouded from mortal eyes. None in the town below think just what the omen is, though some cross themselves to ward against evil. Save for one, who is trying to figure out just what he's doing in a casket.

Henry reaches up a hand that shakes more than he would like, and less than he expects, to shove aside the wooden planks that are close to his face. Waiting a moment as they clatter to the floor, gathering strength a moment before reaching to pull himself up. He doesn't know what has brought him back, though his first thought is some black magic, until he sees that he's in a church. Such a spell shouldn't be able to take hold in a house of God, but he's still not convinced it's a miracle either, though why, he can't quite say.

Looking around, he pauses when he sees one of his council, one of the few who'd been in Paris when he fell ill, and had been able to get to him before he could be captured by enemy French. "My Earl of Salisbury."

There are questions he would like answers to, but he cannot think of how to word them without sounding a fool or mad, neither of which he likes the idea of.

The death of a king is always serious business.  The death of this king is a tragedy, and Matthew finds the iron-grey skies and the chill wind entirely appropriate to the sombre mood that has gripped him since Henry's passing.  He hasn't mourned a monarch this deeply since the Black Prince was lost to him and to England, and had volunteered to accompany Henry's body back across the Channel, his grief nearly as heavy as his sense of responsibility.  It is one last service he can perform for one of the kings he's been proudest to serve.

By the time they reach Calais, night is falling.  Henry is laid temporarily to rest before the altar of the church there, and Matthew stays to keep vigil while the rest of the escorting party goes to secure rooms and a meal.  His faith is no longer a thing of unquestioning certainty, as it was during his mortal life, but Holy Ground is a refuge nonetheless, and he's glad to have been given this hour alone with his king.  

He seats himself in the front pew, his gaze on the cross hanging over the altar, and lets his mind wander.  It might be time to fake his own death, though it will mean giving up the title that's been his since he was fourteen.  He's not sure he wants to continue serving his king, now that that king is no longer Henry.

Movement at the foot of the altar catches his eye, and he's on his feet, sword drawn before he can process the thought, a chill of superstitious horror running down the back of his neck as the lid of the coffin lifts, then falls to the floor with a clatter.  There's no sense of Immortal presence; no reason for the corpse to be moving -- but moving it is, and corpse it isn't -- not any more.

"Your Majesty."  He answers Henry automatically -- then gropes for the pew behind him and sits without looking back.  Distantly, the irony of it all -- an Immortal, startled by a resurrected mortal -- registers, but only distantly.

The shock on Salisbury's face is enough to tell Henry there is little chance of an answer to his questions from him, though he didn't in truth expect any. Other than perhaps one answer which he can give him, and from there, determine just what might be done. "How long have I been dead?"

For he's entirely certain - and for more cause than the casket in which he sits - that he has been dead, no matter that he is no longer in such a state. He can't recall anything that might give him some small inkling as to why he is no longer dead, nothing but the chill-inducing cry of a raven that greeted him as woke, and seemed to echo into his bones. An ill-favored omen, though of what, he wouldn't know.

"Two days, sire."  Matthew stands back up, still staring wonderingly at Henry.  "Longer than --"  He shakes his head, letting the sentence go unfinished.  Longer than any pre-Immortal would have stayed dead, certainly; otherwise, Matthew would be wondering if his Immortality had somehow deserted him.  It's likely futile to ask the king if he knows why he's alive -- Matthew himself certainly hadn't known after his own first death -- but he can't stop himself.  "Your Majesty, do you know how this came to be?  Did you -- do you remember anything?"  It's the one mystery to which he knows he'll never get the answer.  He very much doubts that Immortals get anything like an afterlife.

"Naught but that last I recalled a soft bed and a roof of stone above my head." Henry curls his hands around the edge of the casket again, pushing himself to his feet, though he sways, and has to catch himself on the altar in which the casket is laid in front of. "To come awake after with plain planks above my head and an evil call of raven to pierce the fog of death."

He looks over at Salisbury once he's certain of his balance, stepping out of the casket, glad for the boots that had to have been placed on his feet after he'd been dead. "What would you have said before, when you said that two days was longer?"

Matthew hesitates.  It can do no harm to tell Henry of Immortals.  The throne is no longer his, and even if it were, his own resurrection must necessarily be kept a secret as well, lest men think him one of any number of supernatural terrors.  Still, the habit of two centuries' secrecy is difficult to overcome.  In the end, though, it's the memory of his own confusion upon first returning to life that prompts him to honesty.

"I was going to say, sire, that it lasted longer than I would have expected, had I been expecting your resurrection."  Matthew smiles faintly.  "My own death lasted no more than a few hours."

"Your own death?" Henry steps away from the altar, settling onto one of the wooden benches when a moment's dizziness threatened to drop him. That one of his own nobles - one he's trusted nearly as much as his own youngest brothers and dear uncle - has held something like this a secret bothers him, though perhaps not as much now as it might have before. Death has brought it's own bit of perspective.

"Yes, my lord."  Matthew seats himself as well, now that etiquette will permit it.  "I took a sharpened lance to the chest in tourney that proved temporarily fatal."  

Unconsciously, he lifts his hand to rub at the spot where his death-wound had once been.  There's not even a hint of a scar, something that still disturbs him from time to time, even after the passage of nearly two centuries.  "I've never seen a mortal come back from the dead -- though I'm not sure you are mortal any longer, not entirely.  I don't know what you are, save that you are still Henry, and my liege."

That much Henry doesn't doubt, but to hear Salisbury express that loyalty is a boon that he didn't expect. "Your words commend you well to us, our Earl of Salisbury. Tell me, what of my crowns of England and of France?"

He doesn't expect that they'll still be his, though his son is still far too young to even give thought to them as anything other than something he might drool upon and gum at. And he worries that his brothers might not be so united without him there to watch over them - power is ever something that draws a man like a moth to flame.

"The crown of England has passed to your son, sire, and John, your lord brother serves him as regent," Matthew tells him.  "Charles holds the crown of France, though if the Troyes accord holds, that too will be your son's in time."  

Matthew looks steadily at Henry.  "Whoever holds them, though, sire, it is no longer any concern of yours.  My allegiance is to you, rather than to the thrones to which you can no longer lay claim."  This is always the hardest part for new Immortals, and Matthew doesn't doubt that Henry, too, will struggle with the idea of walking away from his old life.

Henry's face darkens with a scowl at the idea that he would no longer hold either the crown he inherited, nor the one he had fought for the last seven years to obtain and hold. And never quite got to call his own, as Charles had not yet died when he himself had done so. A phrase that he finds quite disconcerting to even think, and that makes him pause to think further before he speaks.

"Perhaps for now they are not my own, but I shall not forget that they once were mine, and shall once more be mine, when time enough has passed that the world might not immediately recall to mind a king who has died to unite the crowns of England and France as one."

"That may take longer than you think, sire," Matthew says dryly.  "A generation, at the least -- and though my kind stops aging after their first death, I'm afraid I have no idea as to whether or not you have done the same."  He hesitates before continuing, but only for a moment.  "If you have, my lord, then I pledge you my sword, and you have my sworn word that once enough time has passed, I will use it to help you regain both of your crowns."

It's less than Henry would like, but it will suit for now, while he figures out what has happened to him. And figure out how to regain his crowns without usurping the thrones from his own son and heir, which he doesn't much like the idea of, once he gives the matter some thought. So long as his son remains on the throne, regardless of anything else, he will keep himself to the shadows at the edges of his countries, if not elsewhere altogether. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to travel, perhaps.

Matthew gets to his feet, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance to the church.  "And now, sire, we need to make ourselves scarce."  Being burnt at the stake once is more than enough, even for an Immortal lifetime.  Matthew has no desire to repeat the experience, especially as he doesn't know whether or not Henry will survive it.  "In fact, it might be better to get out of France altogether."

Standing up himself, Henry follows Salisbury's look briefly before looking at the other man. Older, likely, and certainly more experienced in what it meant to be immortal, regardless of whatever differences there may be between them.

"For my name, and likely my face, will be as known here as in England. Nor would it be good to go to Denmark or its vassal countries, or Spain." He has relatives in all of those places, even though his face might not be as readily recognized. Henry doesn't know where to go, really, though he supposes at the moment, finding the fastest route out of France is likely best. "Through the Germanies, perhaps, and east."

He'd never had the chance to think of going so far abroad when he's had England and France to tend to, and while he intends to have both of those back, for now he'll travel and learn more of the world. Perhaps find places to serve as a soldier for others, and learn their tactics and methods of warfare to add to his own.

"I see no reason not to go east," Matthew says after a moment.  "Though I'll need to send a messenger back to England at the first possible moment.  We'll need money, and I need to make arrangements concerning my estates, and those who live on them."  He's unwilling to simply abandon his responsibilities, no matter the circumstances.  Corwin will make a decent temporary steward, provided he can be persuaded to settle down until Matthew has made other arrangements.

Henry nods, acknowledging that need, although he's fairly certain that once others who are likely accompanying his body back to England discover his body is gone, as is the Earl of Salisbury, they'll want Salisbury's head. "Enough money to start traveling, but not too much. We can work our way, soldiers or guards or what's needed."

If he works, even as a soldier, he suspects he'll be less recognized for who he is, because few pay much attention to common soldiers, as he's seen time and time again in his war with France.

"Once we're out of France, anyway," Matthew agrees.  "I'd rather not have to worry about being paid with coins that bear your likeness, or by men who've seen you, even from a distance.  France and England will both be closed to us for at least a generation, if not longer."  There will be an uproar when Henry's body is discovered to be missing, and Matthew's life and lands will both be forfeit, unless he borrows a page out of Corwin's book.  "In the meantime -- there's an empty house at the outskirts of town, to the north.  Can you make your way there without being seen?"

"If you'll lend me your cloak, yes." Henry doesn't want to be walking through the town without some way to hide his face, even if it were full dark. Too much a risk for anyone seeing him and recognizing his face. He holds out his hand for the cloak, giving Salisbury a steady look.

"In a moment."  Matthew draws his dagger, and hands it to Henry, hilt-first.  "I'd rather avoid being hunted across France.  The habit of beheading the nobility would have permanently disasterous consequences for me."  He draws his sword next, pushing up his sleeve and laying his arm open to bloody the blade.  "There," he says, wincing as the wound knits itself back together.  "That will make it appear as if I fought."  He grins at Henry.  "I have a student who specializes in creative dishonesty."

Henry raises an eyebrow, a little amused, and very curious about how Salisbury's wound heals itself before his eyes in a show of blue sparks that he can only call sorcery, even if they're not of any conscious doing on Salisbury's part. "My brothers will still blame you for my disappearance, regardless." Hopefully not enough to have Salisbury arrested on the spot, and taken away in chains, as he'll appreciate the company as he travels.

"Not after they find my corpse."  Matthew nods at the dagger in Henry's hand.  "I intend to be very dead when the rest of the party returns.  It's hard to assign blame to a man who died protecting his king's body."  It's a plan Corwin would be proud of.  "If you would do the honors?  Be sure to leave the dagger in, though, or it won't stick."

Giving Salisbury a long look, Henry hoped the same sorcery that had healed the wound earlier would, indeed, prevent Salisbury from remaining dead, once the dagger was removed. He suspects whatever poor soul does the honors of preparing the body later will be given a fright. "Your cloak, first - it'll be easier to cross town if there's no blood on it."

Once the cloak is safely set aside, he moves forward quickly, driving the dagger into Salisbury's chest, piercing his heart and burying the blade to the hilt between his ribs. He grimaces at the blood on his hands, if only for a moment before grabbing the cloak to wrap it around himself. Slipping out of the church, and into the streets of what he recognizes now as Calais. An English-held town and one where he'll be far too recognizable if he stays on the streets for any longer than it takes to find the house Salisbury had spoken of.

~ ~~ ~

The streets of Calais are as black as pitch, illuminated only by the moon overhead and the occasional lighted window.  Matthew sneaks along them as quietly as he can, keeping an ear out for the tread of approaching feet.  He's still almost vibrating with the adrenalin from his return to life.  It's not as bad as if he'd taken a Quickening; still, it's difficult to keep his steps measured and silent rather than to hurry along.

It seems to take forever to reach the house at which Henry should be waiting, especially as each sound in the darkness seems magnified tenfold.  By the time he's reached it, and is tapping quietly on the door, he's about ready to jump out of his skin.

In the hours since he's arrived in the small, empty house, Henry's been hard-pressed to keep from pacing until night fell, listening to the people on the streets outside with a tension that didn't ease until dark fell, and the streets emptied. The tap on the door nearly makes him jump, and then silently curse at his nervousness, crossing the main room of the house to open the door. While it could be someone other than Salisbury, he doubts it. No one else knows there's anyone here to answer the door, after all, and he's not lit a candle or fire to give them thought otherwise.

Matthew slips in through the ope door and closes it behind him, pushing the hood of his cloak back from his face.

"Well, we've certainly managed to turn the town on its head," he says, grinning widely.  He's beginning to understand why Corwin spends so much time sneaking around.  "I wouldn't be surprised if there was a house-to-house search on the morrow."

Henry's surprised they hadn't started one before the sun set, though it's as well there wasn't any. "Then we'd best not be here when the sun rises." Now that he's planning to travel, and to explore just what his return from the dead means for him before he reclaims his kingdoms, he doesn't want to be found alive and well by his brothers. Even if he managed to convince them to overlook the sorcery that's caused this, he has little confidence he will do the same with eccesiastical authorities, and doesn't care to find out what that will mean for his kingdoms or his son.

"My thought exactly -- though we both need to change before leaving.  My bloodstains and your funeral finery will attract far too much attention on the road."  He unslings the pack he'd been carrying and deposits it on the floor between them.  "I managed to get some more appropriate clothing.  I had to guess as to your size, but it ought to fit well enough."

Reaching down to open the pack, Henry pulls out the clothing inside, sorting out what looks to be close to his size. He doesn't much mind if the clothing isn't well-fitted, as it will better disguise him while he travels, as his borrowing of cloaks or other clothing had helped to disguise him when he walked among his men before a battle. Leaving off his royal garb, though, causes a twinge of discomfort, particularly since he's not donning battle-dress to replace it.

"And from these clothes, I shall dismiss the thought of riding a horse or taking passage on a ship until we are further afield." For the clothing was of someone common-born, and not well-off enough, he expects, to afford horse or sea-passage.

"For now," Matthew agrees, beginning the process of undressing.  "I've enough money with me to buy better clothes and a pair of horses; we'll do that at the next town.  I can't afford to be in peasant garb for long.  I have to keep my sword, and it will attract too much attention if I'm dressed in this fashion."

Henry strips swiftly, pulling on the borrowed clothing in the stead of his former garb. His brothers, he's sure, will wonder at them being left behind, when his body is nowhere to be found. "Why must you keep the sword?" Beside the fact it is likely one made specifically for Salisbury. Though if they aren't to be soldiers in this first part, Henry thinks it might be best they were as unarmed at the peasants they're pretending to be.

"It's part and parcel of Immortality."  Matthew slants a glance at Henry.  "Well.  My sort of Immortality, anyway."  He hadn't intended to explain the Game, but if they do encounter another Immortal, Henry needs to know what to expect.  "Without it, I'm defenceless against others of my kind and likely to end up permanently dead.  You saw me heal.  Another Immortal can take that power, should he manage to behead me, and there are those out there who will try."

That certainly would make having the sword to defend himself worth the risk of someone taking note of a peasant carrying a weapon that is reserved for the higher classes.

"But whatever sorcery is keeping me alive is of a different sort altogether, and should not require a weapon to maintain it." At least Henry hopes that's so, or he'll have to rely on Salisbury to defend him until he can once more obtain a proper sword.

Matthew nods.  "I can't sense you, which means you're not my kind of Immortal.  If you were, we'd have had to put off travelling until I'd finished teaching you."  Henry is a skilled swordsman, but Immortal challenges are another beast altogether.  "It took ten years before my teacher was willing to let me go, and I was no slouch with a blade even as a mortal."

"You can sense others who bear the same sorcery in their veins?" Henry is curious about what Salisbury is, and what that will mean for their travels. If Salisbury can sense others of his kind, there is the curiosity if he'll avoid them or confront them, or leave the option to them as to which direction an encounter might take. And how much attention that will draw to them in itself, and never mind who Henry was.

"And those who will become Immortal," Matthew confirms.  "It's one of the reasons your return from death startled me so badly.  Had you been destined to become Immortal, I'd have gotten you away before your death -- and likely put a dagger through you.  One of us whose first death comes from age or illness will stay dead.  It takes violence to activate Immortality."  Unconsciously, he rubs at the spot under his heart where the lance that had felled him had pierced his chest.

It's a little more to tell him how the sorcery works, but he doesn't pretend to truly understand it, or wish to understand it. Or rather, how Salisbury's sorcery works. Whatever has caused his continued life, he still has no thoughts as to what it could be. Henry remains silent as he finishes pulling on the borrowed clothing, waiting for Salisbury to be ready so they can leave. The sooner they're on the road, the better he'll like it.

Matthew finishes dressing, then packs away what they'd been wearing before straightening.

"Time to go, sire," he says.  "Though from now on, I'll have to use your name, if we're to avoid the curiosity of anyone in earshot.  Fortunately, Henry is a common enough name that you can keep it, if you like."

Henry nods. "Titles will keep until I have my crown once more." His and Salisbury's alike, though he doesn't recall that he's ever taken the time to learn Salisbury's name. "What is your Christian name, my Earl of Salisbury?"

"Matthew."  His sword goes into a blanket, which then gets tied carefully to ensure that it won't come open at an inopportune moment.  "Another name that's heard often enough not to be remarked upon."  Matthew glances around, making sure that they've left nothing behind.  The dust will bear signs of their presence, but that alone won't be enough to do anything but cause suspicion.  Lifting the pack onto his back once more, Matthew holds the door open.  "After you, my -- Henry."


End file.
